


Incorporeal

by justanotherStonyfan



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Another headcanon that doesn't fit into anything I am writing or plan on writing, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil finally gets the go ahead to tell the Avengers he survived. It doesn't go as he planned. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incorporeal

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, mistakes are mine.

When Phil arrived at the Captain's apartment building, he was nervous. Nervous, in fact, was an understatement, but he knew better than to show it. He didn't _have_ to show it, he'd learned how not to but that didn't mean he felt nothing. His hands, for example, were clasped in front of him so that he wouldn't think about his sweating palms, and he'd tripped over his own toes when he walked to the door but somehow miraculously stayed on his feet. His sunglasses were tucked into his breast pocket – he was pretty sure that the Captain might hate him a little less if he could see Phil's eyes.

Phil was definitely good at concealing emotion when he wanted to, but he was definitely sorry, too. The fact that it hadn't been his own decision to first conceal the recovery and then maintain that concealment didn't make up for the fact that it had been a colossal betrayal of confidence on SHIELD's part. And, although one good – one wonderful – thing had come out of it, tricking a group of incredible, damaged people into becoming the Avengers could only maintain them for so long.

United in grief, they'd saved New York and, Coulson knew from mission reports and psychiatric evaluations, were paying the emotional price themselves. 

Natasha and Clint, two of his own, were dealing as well as they could be expected to. They had been trained to make sure that his death didn't affect them in the field. In their day to day work, it would be impossible to tell that they felt anything for him at all – and perhaps they didn't. But, if they did, he knew they'd never show it to anyone. Except, perhaps, each other.

Banner, while a great man, had barely known him. He'd been as kind as possible to Banner, just as Banner had been to him, but they hadn't been friends. They had barely even been colleagues. And yet Banner still blamed himself. 

Thor – the sweet, gentle-giant of an Asgardian – had been what Coulson might have considered a friend. They certainly knew each other better than the others, had spent more time in each others' company, been through more together. Aside from Clint and Natasha, of course.

Stark had been....difficult, in that it had been hard for him to live with the knowledge of how Stark would take the news. Stark, who feigned disinterest and emotional detachment, bore pain more deeply, with greater disguise, than anybody else. It had the potential to fester within him, to turn and turn over on itself until it broke and splintered and took part of him with it. The plus side, of course, was that Stark wouldn't fester if he had somewhere to channel that energy and, like the desperate need for escape from a cave in Afghanistan had brought with it Iron Man, his own death had moved Stark to join the others. The worst of it had been knowing that Pepper Potts would have to hear of it all, too. She'd been kept just as much in the dark, without the benefit of a metal suit to exact her own revenge. 

But he came now, first, to the Captain. Not just because he was their leader but because he'd lost so many people and still come so far, suffered so much pain and still come through for all of them. And yes, of course, Phil was still in awe of him but there was more to it now. More to a group of people who were capable of pushing through grief, turning it to their own advantage, and enough to make him realize that there could be no better way of keeping them together than to make sure they knew just what their strengths were when they worked together.

And so he planned, quite reasonably, to knock on the Captain's front door, like any kind of polite person would do.

But the Captain's door, when he reached it, was wide open, the whole place light on the inside, the radio playing something old and scratchy. The Captain had all his electric lights on, all the curtains open and the windows thrown wide, too, and the place looked better for it.

For a short while, Phil had worried that something so small and dark would do a man like Steve Rogers no actual good at all. A man so used to something so different would only feel hemmed in, cornered, by such a place. But he'd made it his own, obviously, and Phil stepped over the threshold because people in Brooklyn generally didn't leave their front doors wide open. The likelihood was, of course, that anyone attempting to break into Captain America's apartment would swiftly find that they had made a serious mistake, but he didn't like the idea of being potentially wrong and having potentially done nothing to make sure Steve Rogers was, indeed, safe. 

He saw, a moment later, that he'd been prematurely anxious – Steve Rogers was perfectly fine and covered in charcoal smears, his jaw and forehead particularly adorned, his fingertips dark and stained. Phil didn't doubt why – forehead and jaw were indicative of thoughtfulness, of moments taken out of concentration to ponder with one hand to his chin, or fingertips pressed to his temple, as he currently was.

And, all at once, Phil found that he had made his own mistake.

You couldn't sneak up on Captain America. And that meant that, soon as he saw Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers' head turned.

He expected a great deal from the Captain at that moment, as the sudden realization that he'd blown it swept the hair on the back of his neck up – or perhaps that was adrenaline. He expected anger, hatred, betrayal written clear on his face. Perhaps the Captain would clench his jaw and bite out that Coulson should leave. Or maybe he'd throw his work aside and grab Phil by the lapels and ask – demand – who had done this.

But, instead, he looked Phil up and down, leaned back in his chair and sighed. And then he _smiled._

“Well, I'll be,” he said. “It took you long enough.”

Phil blinked at the Captain as he stood, as he walked by him to close the front door. “I'm sorry?” he said.

“Although I have to admit,” the Captain said, “I'm a little surprised. I figured you'd stick with Clint or Natasha or someone. Maybe Fury, can you imagine?”

“I...” Phil frowned. “I haven't been to see any of them yet. Except Fury, Fury knows.”

“Ha, I wish I could have seen his face,” the Captain said, turning to face him again. “And you can do that?”

Phil shook his head slowly. “I'm not sure I understand,” he answered.

“You can go and see them,” the Captain answered. “Only everyone else is fixed. I guess maybe you have more tying you to other people, though. I never got to know how it works.”

Phil wondered if the Captain was ignoring his confusion, or whether he was just automatically hiding it too well for the Captain to see.

He gestured to the couch. “I presume sitting down isn't beyond you,” he said, passing by again to go into the kitchen. “I'd offer you a drink but...” and then he laughed. “Well, there's no real point, is there?”

Coulson didn't sit, unsure he was actually hearing the entirety of the Captain's words. 

“Am I missing something?” he asked.

“Aside from the obvious?” the Captain answered, and Phil turned to follow him into the kitchen only to discover that the Captain was returning, a glass of water in one dusty hand. “So how are things with you?”

This, Phil could answer, and he felt a little better at being asked something so...normal. “I'm good,” he said. “No pain, which is always a plus.”

“Mmm, I know,” the Captain answered. “It's a blessing, isn't it? I'm flattered you came here actually, given how little I knew you.”

Phil blinked. “Why wouldn't I come here?”

And the Captain laughed, deep and rich. “Right, right,” he said. “Right, of course. So we can get to know each other a little better now, right?” Phil did his best not to blush as the Captain continued. “I figured you were a good man, I only wish I'd known before just how deep that ran.”

“Well, I'd say it takes one to know one?” Phil tried, aware that it came out like a question. 

The Captain leaned on the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest with one hand still holding the glass of water. “You're still flattering me,” he said. “But I'm not going to tell you it's not great to have you here. And you can stay just as long as you want to.”

Phil felt his eyebrows raise, and glanced around the apartment. 

“Uh,” he said, searching for some way to make a joke instead of asking what on earth the Captain was talking about. “Will we both fit?”

The Captain laughed again. “I like you,” he said, and then his smile faded just a little. “I wish I'd known.”

Phil cleared his throat, shuffled his feet a little. “Thank you,” he said, “Captain.”

Steve blew air out between pursed lips. “Given how much you're probably going to end up seeing of me, I think I'd much prefer it if you called me Steve.”

Phil smiled a little, nodding slowly. “Steve,” he said. “I'm Phil, out of office hours.”

Steve chuckled. “Sure thing,” he said, and then he showed Phil exactly what was wrong. “Let me introduce you; it's been a while since we had a good-lookin' face in here.”

Phil's opened his mouth to speak just as the Captain turned and pointed in the general direction of the kitchen behind him. 

“Bucky never showed, but this is Gabe,” the Captain said. “Good with anything and everything.” He turned to the television. “Dum Dum,” he said, “good with facial hair and bowler hats.” And here he chuckled, as though someone else had spoken, as he turned to point at the period-decorated digital radio on the side unit. “Ha, sure. This is Jim, mind you watch what you...” 

And then he trailed off into silence before, very slowly, turning back to the television. 

“Captain,” Phil said, not liking this at all, not liking it _one bit_ , and he watched as the smile slid off Steve's face, as the friendly crinkles around his eyes smoothed out, his eyes wide, his hand hovering in mid-air. 

And, slowly, his gaze slid over to Phil. “What?” he said, turning one ear towards the television set. 

There were a few seconds of silence – and Phil found himself glancing at the television set, too, more out of the sudden unnerving adrenaline rush than anything else – before Steve spoke again.

“You...are you _sure_?”

He sounded desperate now, breaths coming faster, hands curling into fists. Phil took a step forward and Steve faced him fully, moving from his deer-in-the-headlights stance into the one that Phil knew. 

“Captain,” Phil said, and Steve held up a hand.

“Just answer me one question,” he said. “Am I alone in this room?”

Phil frowned at him, glanced around the room for a moment or two and then cut his gaze back to Steve's. “There's...Captain, there's nobody here except us.”

Steve's jaw clenched as his head went up, as his shoulders straightened and his eyelids lowered, as he dropped both hands to his sides. 

Slowly, as though he feared what Phil might do to him – or perhaps he feared what he might do to Phil – he approached him, step by step, eyes fixed on Phil's face until he was close enough to reach out. And then, roughly enough that it hurt, Steve jabbed two fingers into Phil's good shoulder.

And then he drew his hand back as though burned, his expression one of absolute terror, and shook his head. “Jesus,” he whispered.

And then he turned around, ran the few steps to the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. 

Phil stood in the middle of the living room for a good few seconds, skin tingling uncomfortably. This was a sensation he hadn't felt for a while - didn't often feel outside undercover missions and hated now. The radio sputtered and it was enough to startle him into moving, on his way to Steve's bedroom door before he'd even thought about it.

“Steve!” he said, raising his fist to bang on the door. 

He _heard_ Steve make a noise on the other side of it, a startled yelp and the shuffle of feet on hardwood flooring, and then there was a tremendous _BANG_ in return, rattling the door on its hinges. “Get out!” Steve yelled, and Phil shook his head though Steve couldn't see it.

“Captain, please, you-”

And then he almost fell forward as the door was yanked open and out from under his hands. Steve caught him though, hands on Coulson's shoulders, and he looked halfway between terrified and furious. “Who put you up to this, _who_?” he said, shaking Coulson a little. “Was it Fury?”

“Captain,” Phil answered, and Steve shook him again, face screwing up. 

“Answer me!” he said. “Who was it took you from us and told us we'd lost _another_ man, who said you were killed, _who lied to me!?_ ”

“Fury,” Phil answered, as levelly as he could. “It was Fury's-”

Steve let him go, pushing him back a little to walk past him. “Get out of our apartment,” he said, and then “shut up.”

Phil blinked at him. “I...what?” he said.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn't call an Assemble Alarm _right now,_ ” he said. “One reason I should let you walk out of here and do this your way instead of calling everyone to me, _right now_ and showing them _just what you've done.”_

And maybe he should have let the Captain do what he wanted. Maybe he should have let him call the others. But maybe this was his chance to do things better the second time; even if the Captain never forgave him for this, it hadn't been Phil's fault this time.

“Because I know who you were trying to introduce me to in the middle of an empty room.”

The Captain went _white_ , shaking his head. “Don't you dare.”

“You passed the psych evaluation once,” Phil answered, hating every word out of his mouth. “Do you really think you can pass it again?” And it was a threat, they both knew it. “Let me go and I never have to mention-”

The Captain's eyes narrowed, and he looked away. “Seems I had you wrong,” he said. “But if that's your trade, fine. Get out.”

And, with that, Steve marched back to his bedroom.

Phil looked around the apartment, glancing back at the radio as it futzed again for a moment, and then he walked to the front door.

“And don't trip again on your way out,” the Captain said, his voice muffled through the door, different somehow, as though it were a good impression of Steve's voice instead of the Captain himself. “Nobody's going to catch you this time.”

Phil's mouth dropped open, and he was just about to turn back, to ask how Steve could possibly know, but the door to Steve's apartment slammed in his face.

.

**Author's Note:**

> In case that was spectacularly unclear, Steve thought Phil was a ghost because he sees his old platoon buddies. When he figured out Phil was real, he freaked out. Phil thought Steve was hallucinating until a couple of details point to a different explanation.


End file.
